Containers We Are

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Welcome to Scattered Moments. My name is Matt Tullis, and I have spent a good portion of my life, maybe you have too, trying to be somebody, somebody significant, somebody useful, somebody who makes a difference, somebody who gets it right more often than he gets it wrong. And I suppose there's nothing inherently wrong with wanting our lives to matter, but somewhere along the line, we can begin to believe that the whole thing depends upon us, our abilities, accomplishments, our wisdom, our capacity to hold everything together. And that's an exhausting way to live because there's always somebody more talented, somebody more successful, somebody who seems to have figured out what we're still stumbling through. And if we're not careful, we can spend our entire life trying to become the person we think God needs us to be. But here's the thought that has become increasingly precious to me. Our lives are not about us. And that's not bad news. That's wonderful news because it takes the pressure off. It means I don't have to be the hero of my own story. I don't have to manufacture greatness or somehow impress God with my performance. I don't have to be extraordinary. I simply have to belong to someone who is. And suddenly the Christian life becomes less about proving ourselves and more about following Jesus, less about building a reputation and more about bearing his presence, less about being somebody and more about containing someone. The Apostle Paul understood this. He knew something about accomplishments, credentials, and ambition. But he also understood that the greatest treasure of life was something he could never produce on his own. It was the presence of Christ.

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M.

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Paul, this multilingual, mini-lettered Pharisee, well, former Pharisee, used a rather particular image to describe it. A jar of clay. Not really impressive, not especially valuable, easily chipped, easily cracked, entirely ordinary, but capable of carrying something priceless. And that's the secret. God never intended us to be the treasure. He intended us to carry it. And the older I get, the more grateful I am for this truth, because there's a remarkable freedom in knowing that I don't have to be the light. I simply have to let it shine. I don't have to be the source. I simply need to remain connected to him. I don't have to be the savior. Thank God that position has already been filled. I am simply the container, and that is more than enough. Because as Paul said it, we don't preach ourselves. We don't strut our talents, we don't flaunt our riches, we don't parade our accomplishments, tout our strategies, or sell our style. We don't lean on our own wisdom. We preach Jesus Christ as Lord. Anything more is tainted by pride, anything less misses the point. We are simply people entrusted with an extraordinary message, speaking the name of Jesus into the darkness of the lost and chaotic world we live in, and sometimes into the darkness of our own hearts. For the God who once said, Let light shine out of darkness has done something remarkable. He has let the light shine in us. The very God who spoke light into existence has placed the knowledge of his glory in the hearts of the ordinary people like me and you. And that raises an interesting question. Who are we to carry such glory? Well, we are the containers, we're the vessels, we're the glass, we're the bowl, we are the containers, the jars of clay, and we have our cracks, we have our imperfections, we have our nicks and scratches, our dents and disappointments. Some of us, I know I have, have been dropped a time or two. Some of us have been patched together so many times that we're beginning to wonder how we're still holding everything together, and yet here we are. So, yes, we are a mess. So where is our value? Where is our glory? Where is our worth? Is it in the container? Is it in the shape of the vessel? The smoothness of the surface, the beauty of the design? That would be a no. It's in what we carry. Paul said it this way we have this treasure in jars of clay. So the extraordinary power might be recognized as coming from God and not from us. Just think about that. God has deliberately placed his treasure in fragile containers, not golden chalices, not flawless crystal, not vessels polished to perfection. Clay. Common, ordinary, breakable clay. And perhaps that's the whole point. Because when the light shines through our lives, nobody is going to mistake the container for the source. When grace pours out, nobody should confuse the vessel with the fountain. When the power of Christ is revealed, nobody should look at us and say, Wow, what an extraordinary person. They should look at us and say, What an extraordinary God. We don't boast in anything outside of Christ. How foolish it would be to claim the glory for ourselves. How unthinkable to believe that the treasure belongs to the jar. And yet sometimes we forget. We become preoccupied with our appearance, our influence, our achievements, our reputations. We compare our containers. We begin to measure and calculate our cracks against somebody else's polish. We spend so much time trying to look impressive that we forget the treasure we're carrying. But the kingdom of God has never depended on the perfection of its containers. Thank God for that. Because we are hard-pressed on every side, not crushed. We are perplexed. And let's just go ahead and admit it, we are perplexed more than we would like. We doubt, we disappoint, we fail, we have skinned knees and calloused hands. We run into walls, obstacles, dead ends, and circumstances we never saw coming. We pray prayers that seem to go unanswered. We follow paths that don't seem to lead anywhere. We make promises we struggle to keep. Sometimes we fall flat on our faces, but Paul says we are perplexed, yet we're not driven to despair. We're persecuted but not abandoned. We are struck down but not destroyed, down but not out. Why? Because the power was never ours to begin with. We are vessels of God's glory. And that means something wonderfully liberating. It means that I can be faithful even when I'm not successful. I can speak the truth even when no one is willing to hear it. I can walk through fire even when I come out with fewer friends than I had going in. I can serve without applause. I can love without recognition. I can give without anyone knowing what it cost. And if nobody notices a single thing I do for Christ, I have lost nothing that matters eternally. Because the applause was never the point. The treasure was, the glory was, Christ was. And perhaps this is one of the great freedoms of the Christian life. We don't have to spend our days obsessing over how we look, how much we accomplish, or where we are sent. We don't have to manufacture significance. We don't have to prove our worth to a world that keeps changing the rules. We belong to Christ. We carry his life within us. Paul says that we carry in our bodies the death of Christ so that the life of Christ may be revealed in us. What a remarkable mystery, death and life, weakness and power, frailty and glory, all dwelling together in these fragile jars of clay. We are infinitely more than we could ever be on our own. Not because we have become extraordinary containers, but because we carry an extraordinary savior. And the older I get, the more I understand how fragile these containers really are. The body slows, the hands that once seemed so strong begin to tremble, the face in the mirror changes, the years slip through our fingers like sand, and sometimes the cracks become impossible to hide. But Paul offers another astonishing promise. Therefore, we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we're wasting away, inwardly we're being renewed day by day, day by day, not merely once long ago when we first believed, not only on those rare occasions when faith feels strong and heaven seems close day by day in those ordinary mornings, in the sleepless nights in the hospital rooms, and the unanswered questions, in the quiet work nobody sees, and the disappointments we never expected. Even there God is renewing us. Even there treasure remains, even there light shines. And those troubles which sometimes feel anything but light or momentary are being set against something so vast, so glorious, so eternal that they cannot begin to compare. We fix our eyes not on what is seen, but what is unseen, because what is seen is temporary, what is unseen is eternal. And one day, when the race is finished and the last breath is drawn, when these fragile containers can contain us no farther, we will discover that the most important thing about our lives was never the container itself. It was the one who filled it, the one who sustained it, the one who carried us when we could no longer carry ourselves. The glory of Jesus Christ, the passion of his calling, the freedom of his grace, his time, his plan, his heart, his home. So what do you say, you jars of clay? Shall we spend another day worrying about our cracks? Shall we spend another year trying to polish ourselves into something impressive? Or shall we simply open ourselves to the glory of God? Let's throw open the windows, let's open wide every chapter of today, let's allow his light into the corners we've kept hidden. Let's stop apologizing for being clay and start rejoicing in the treasure. No, this life isn't a cakewalk, but it's not a funeral dirge either. It is eternal, it's thrilling, it's real, it's beyond us. And somehow by the grace of God it is working through us. Not because we are strong, not because we are flawless, not because we have all the answers, but because Christ lives in us. And that changes everything. So take heart, thou fragile, jacked-up vessel. You are more than your cracks, more than your failures, more than the years that have warned you then. You are carrying something this world desperately needs. The life of Jesus, the light of his glory, the hope of eternity. And the greatest miracle of all is that God never asked us to be the treasure. He didn't ask us to be something. He asked us to contain something. Simply asking us to carry it. And even cracked jars can do that. And that's scattered moments for today. Until next time, take heart. Notice the scattered moments, and share the grace.